


A Thousand Nights of Silent Tears

by cmcross



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmcross/pseuds/cmcross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every night, when darkness blankets London and the roar of the city settles into a dull murmur, Gregory Lestrade visits 221B. Post-Reichenbach. John/Lestrade friendship. Implied Johnlock. Unrequited Sherstrade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Nights of Silent Tears

Every night, when darkness blankets London and the roar of the city settles into a dull murmur, Gregory Lestrade visits 221B. Using his key he opens the door, slips soundlessly past Mrs. Hudson's room, and up the stairs.

The flat is empty. The furniture gone and the kitchen cleared of all equipment. There's a pang in his chest seeing it like this; like a gaping wound, festering without proper care.

He shuffles to Sherlock's old bedroom and pushes the door open gently. It, too, is devoid of everything that had once made it special, made it unique, made it special, but unlike the rest of the flat it's not completely empty. Here, if nowhere else, is proof of life.

There's an old army cot against the wall. In it a tiny figure is curled in on itself. Greg approaches quietly, as he always does, and peers down at John through the darkness. He perches himself on the edge of the cot and sighs. "Did you eat today?" he asks.

John curls in on himself even more. "I'll be fine."

"You have to eat," he says, and lays a hand on his friends shoulder. He flinches under Greg's touch.

"I'll be fine," John says again, rolling away from the DI.

"When are you going to start trying to be?" Greg asks. "No one's seen you in public since the funeral."

There's a moment of deafening silence. "I can't, Greg. I just can't," John's voice cracks under the weight of his emotions and his shoulders begin to shake.

It's a conversation they've had before, during a thousand nights of silent tears, and Greg thinks that if he leaves this place tonight he'll return tomorrow to a dead body. So he does something unprecedented. He shucks his shoes and socks and lays down next to John in the tiny cot. Wrapping his arms around him, he pulls the Doctor close, and lets him cry into his chest.

"I know no one cared about Sherlock the way you did," he says, "But you're not the only one who did care about him. I'm not going to curl up and die from this and neither are you."

"I love him, Greg. I love him."

"I know," he says, stroking John's short blond hair gently. "I know."

Me, too.


End file.
